


(lay my) burden down

by parishilton



Series: foxes mate for life [1]
Category: Big Brother RPF
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Summer Camp, M/M, Murder Mystery, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-26
Updated: 2016-07-18
Packaged: 2018-07-10 07:45:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 14,844
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6974023
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/parishilton/pseuds/parishilton
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“it’s okay,” the man continues casually, as if he saves pantsless boys all the time from drowning and, maybe he does, because zach finally notices that the man is wearing a sopping wet, yellow 'staff' tee shirt.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. one

**Author's Note:**

> thank you to nicole for making sure my research on alligator penis did not have to continue. more on this during a later installment (this is the first part of a three part series - each part will likely be split into two chapters as an attempt to not incredibly bore everyone with too much material to read all at once). 
> 
> there are absolutely no graphic depictions of murder or violence within this particular part of the series. actually, there is no murder at all in this particular part of the series that occurs "on screen", for lack of a better term, rather one that is alluded to.

zach has always been a late bloomer. his entire public schooling experience could be summarized as one perpetually disappointing showcase of his own masculinity after another. 

in elementary school, while other boys came out of the school nurse’s office with stickers proudly proclaiming they grew at least an inch since the year before, zach always came back with no sticker and with his head ducked down in embarrassment. when other boys’ voices dropped an octave or two lower in middle school, zach was stuck with a slight squeak to his normal speaking tone that resulted in inevitable mockery at school. by sophomore year of high school, while other boys would undress out in the open in the locker room, zach would notice tiny tufts of chest hair on his friends, just between their nipples, and zach felt constantly assaulted by the masculinity and physical maturity in everyone his own age. 

it wasn’t that he wanted to be six foot four, or have a voice that was deep and gravelly at the tender age of thirteen, or even that he wanted body hair like a grizzly bear. he just always assumed that’s how he ought to be and that anything less is unacceptable and to be ridiculed. when he meets frankie, he realizes with startling clarity that he is perfectly content being shorter, less aggressively masculine, and generally more passive than most guys his own age. 

frankie is, in some ways, traditionally masculine, and in others, not at all. he has a chest defined by small, tight muscles that zach’s mouth goes dry when he sees and prominent, hooded eyes that look zach up and down when zach ventures outside to swim. yet, when the sun beats down on his forehead, none of the short hairs at his hairline stick with sweat to his face, his head engulfed with hair products that are deadly to the very environment that frankie was accustomed to living in every summer. 

in late june, the air is moist at camp and the water comes up through zach’s sneakers to soak his socks through, and it makes him want to go barefoot, if it weren’t for cody’s older brother’s warnings of 'swamp foot disease' that he assumes is an old wives tale, but doesn’t wish to test out. 

he feels like he’s making acquaintance with another planet, though the okefenokee swamp borders his own state line and is only six hours from his own little suburb which, in comparison, now seems dull and lifeless. 

zach spent the majority of last summer at basketball camp, less than an hour outside of his hometown, sequestered away with so many guys from his own high school that the entire summer had begun to feel like a two month long gym class from hell. 

peyton needs golf lessons with professionals this summer and zach’s guidance would only steer him in the wrong direction, apparently. peyton needs to be without distraction, so zach, shortly after refusing to attend basketball camp again, invited himself to spend the summer with cody, at the camp in georgia that his older brother paul has invested enough time into over the years to become an assistant director of.

squelching through the trees in his nike’s, he readjusts his bag over his shoulder, spotting paul just through the brush. a girl’s ponytail swings past a long tree branch, her head brushing paul’s chest, making zach think the girl is a young camper.

when zach steps towards them to greet the only person here he knows so far besides cody, twigs snap under his feet, and the short girl darts off without glancing in zach’s direction. 

“hey,” paul smirks, “what’s the matter? homesick already?” standing at just barely six feet tall, paul is eighteen, self-important, and smug. zach thinks his teasing is ineffective, mostly because zach definitely does not miss his parents already, but also because if anyone here is homesick, it’s probably paul. the calafiore’s are constantly in each other’s business like no other family zach has ever known. 

zach purses his lips and squints. “didn’t you let me come so people here wouldn’t think your only friend back home is your little brother?” 

“hell no,” paul jokes easily, “let you come so you wouldn’t be at the payphone in the cafeteria, calling cody every morning from basketball camp, crying, like you did every day last summer.” 

zach feels his face heat up. “i never _cried_.” 

“you look like you’re about to cry right now,” paul teases. 

zach wishes he was as short as that girl had been, so he too could duck behind the tree branches and hide his face from view.

“the obstacle course starts in half an hour.” paul scans zach’s clothing, laughing mercilessly. “tell me you’re not going to wear basketball shorts while trying to crawl under barbed wire.” 

“barbed wire?” zach whines, throwing his bag off his shoulder and into the wet dirt below in what probably resembles a temper tantrum. “are _you_ even doing the course?” 

paul’s eyebrows cinch and he snorts in disbelief like this is the most ridiculous thing he’s ever heard. “no, see, i’m an assistant director-” 

“yeah,” someone pipes in from the side, “he assists derrick by holding his dick for him while he’s at the urinal.” 

paul glares at the kid. “voss,” he sneers. 

the kid shakes his head. “too big for first names now?”  

“distinguished men of a certain stature-” paul begins. 

“i don’t know if modeling underwear for department store catalogues is that distinguished….”

paul bares his teeth in a way that zach can only describe as canine. “you know, i can pull up high school nursing records now. do you want everyone here to know you gave lice to everyone back home?” 

zach thinks plaintively that it makes sense, because hayden’s long, windswept hair would probably be considered luxury boarding for insects, but says nothing. 

“woah!” the kid throws his arms up in a mock apology. “your ass looks biteable in those ads, man, my bad. it’ll never happen again.”

paul turns away from him completely in order to look at zach. he claps him on the back hardily and zach’s tiny frame shakes a little from the weight of paul’s hand. “now get lost, kid.” 

“yeah!” hayden joins in merrily. “skedaddle, sport. back in my day, when an adult told you to get lost, you could go to the five and dime down the street and buy some candy cigarettes. it was only eighteen cents for a gallon of gas....” 

zach is already darting out of earshot of the rest of their bickering. he can’t believe he’s expected to crawl through mud and muck in this unfamiliar place, and in the summer’s hot and foggy humidity. he squelches away unhappily.

* * *

the obstacle course, much like the actual camp, is set up mostly on the outer perimeters of the okefenokee swamp, though zach keeps hearing rumors, as he walks through the grounds looking for cody, of new additions to the course featuring real swamp terrain, which really doesn’t settle his nerves at all.

the guys, as well as several girls lined up beside him, are wearing tight-fitted water-resistant athletic clothing, long sleeves, sweatbands, and work boots. zach looks down at his own loose basketball shorts, pink wide-necked cotton tank top, and lightweight, breathable sneakers, and doesn’t want to begin to imagine the places on his body where the mud will cake. 

he thinks maybe if he goes up to somebody who _looks_ important, he can forfeit before he begins. when it’s announced that the endpoint of the course is nearly two miles from where they are now, zach realizes he can’t make a run for it into the woods to wait this out, because he would definitely get lost. 

with intense dread building, he waits with his feet on the red tape, lined yards and yards down with at least forty other people also lined up by it, stretching their limbs. finally, cody appears seemingly out of nowhere, in a full black skintight bodysuit. 

zach gapes. “you didn’t tell me you were so frickin’ prepared!” 

cody raises an eyebrow. “why does it matter? is it doing something for you?” 

“yeah, it’s pissing me off!” 

cody rolls his eyes. “everybody, stand back,” he warns nobody in particular, his voice being immediately washed out by the loud murmurs on either side of them, “zach is dangerous! he might just cry all over you.” 

“dude, shut up.” zach scowls and looks off into the density of the trees, then back to the intimidating way the other guys near him are flexing their arms. he knows cody isn’t very muscled and, in all likelihood, won’t be a frontrunner, but he’s more level-headed than zach is during the stressful games they’re thrown into in their gym class back home.

a horn blares the start of the obstacle course shortly thereafter, signaling the real beginning of the race, and zach finds it relatively easy to keep up with cody’s pace as they dart headlong into the brush. the first thing zach sees a few yards off is a huge wooden wall with small pegs going up it in random placement. zach has no experience rock climbing indoors, nor outdoors, but he thinks he can make it to the other side. 

as they approach the wall, zach sees someone stationed nearby, pensively watching them, wearing a neon yellow shirt that reads _staff_ on it in bold, black letters. zach breathes an enormous sigh of relief knowing that there may be help at every stop along the course. 

zach loses his footing easily halfway up the wall, but cody is already at the top, reaching for his hand with a panicked expression that tells zach he’s not going to be abandoned by his friend just yet. as they traipse along, zach groans internally as he sees a mud-pit ahead, complete with black tunnels, man-made and clearly designed for someone to crouch through with their knees deep in dirty, brown water. 

zach hears a whooping sound from a distance and practically runs into a tree whipping around to see paul stationed just before the tunnels, also wearing a _staff_ tee shirt, and shouting cody’s name in earnest. zach would spend more time thinking about how paul shouldn’t be so obvious about who he’s rooting for if his legs weren’t about to be layered in mud.

nicole, as zach has also learned came to camp, is kneeling down in front of him and ducking into one of the five tunnels laid out side by side, zach notices. she must have fallen behind, because zach doesn’t see hayden anywhere near her. her hands are already caked in mud and zach finds that the scent of putrid, dirty water when inhaled makes his eyes tear up. 

zach is more out of breath an hour into camp here than he had ever been during his two months at basketball camp, panting and struggling to not stop to try and shake the mud out of his shorts. the muddy ground below becomes so wet that it traps zach’s sneakers in like quicksand, and it becomes more of a feat to drag himself out of that than it has been to simply run for such a long distance. 

just when zach feels like he will be able to beat this course, the herd of people in front of him stop short and start looking around in confusion. zach cranes his head to the side, trying to see what torture-chamber they’ve thrust upon him now. it’s not until he stands on his tiptoes that he sees the death trap that awaits ahead. 

there is no way across except to swim. some of the boys have figured this out and have dived in face-first. others, including nicole, stumble on the edge, looking around as if waiting for a canoe or a paddleboat to appear. on the other side of the water, a trail veering sharply to the left has been made with wooden posts, to lead them safely away from venturing further into swampland.

the whispered rumors of the new addition are, startlingly, true. they have run far enough now to be within the outer ring of the okefenokee swamp, the width of this particular span of water is not the terrifying part, as it’s narrow enough to be comparable to the length of an average in-ground swimming pool. what’s terrifying is the unknown factor, the cloudy, murky water and that zach has no idea how deep the water goes, and worst of all is the fact that what lies underneath is guesswork - with a possibility of snapping turtles, rattlesnakes, and alligators. 

zach imagines seeing someone getting yanked under the water completely, imagines the water staining red where they were, and imagines an amputated limb or two surfacing before a scaly reptile with a jaw that could easily enclose zach’s entire head swims to the surface to open it’s jaw wide and swallow a floating limb whole. 

reality sets back in as it appears that nobody is getting yanked under. the sky is still a bright and clear blue and the temperature is mid-seventies and comfortable. cody has waded in alongside nicole, both swimming easily now, with legs outstretched behind them like frogs. 

zach feels the herd of people on every side of him congregating closer and closer, until his feet are sliding wetly into the mud, desperately trying to dig his heels into a slippery surface to stay upright. elbows dig into his sides as guys try to shove each other out of the way, the most courageous ones also being the most inconsiderate. zach’s feet can no longer hold him to the earth and, with one final shove on each side of his body, he flails, and he falls into the water. 

when he resurfaces, there is so much splashing and roughhousing going on that he cannot see in which direction is the other side of land. though the swamp had seemed narrow before, zach feels as though it may as well be the length of the pacific ocean now. he cannot do anything but swim in place, kicking his feet spastically below him, not daring to try and test the depth of the waters. 

finally, some space clears around him, and he can see some girls paddling like dogs with their chins tipped up in order to avoid swallowing swamp water, and they’ve almost reached land. he leans forward, head lowering so he can begin to swim after them, when he feels a sharp kick to the face, and barely recognizes the burning sensation in his nose being a tell-tale sign of blood rushing out, before he sinks like a brick.  

the waters must not be as extraordinarily deep as he envisioned, because it only takes a minute after he sinks below the surface for him to feel the ground beneath his feet. the headrush from being kicked by a guy who probably has more strength in one foot than zach does in his entire body makes it impossible for zach’s legs to catch up with his brain. the strength of that foot propelled him down fast, and though he’s conscious still, he wishes he weren’t. his head throbs, his nose prickles, and he fears he will soon begin to lose what little oxygen his body has reserved, and drown while being completely aware and alert, and profusely anxious, without having any power to stop it. 

the water above him splashes with hoards of oblivious people swimming above him as his body quickly runs out of air. he isn’t able, in that moment, to even remember to be angry with cody for not waiting for him. his panic is heightened the longer it takes for each person to swim past him. each millisecond feels excruciatingly long and his throat burns from gulping down water while struggling for air. his head tells him to resign to the fact that he’s dying. 

it’s only after zach has made peace with the fact he’s dying that he feels a pair of warm, strong arms enveloping him from behind and he feels himself slowly rising, as someone behind him has used their feet to push off from the bottom of the swamp to get enough traction to spring them both back up to the surface. 

zach begins coughing up water the second he’s at the surface, still not getting any air until he’s exhausted his ability to cough. his body is completely limp, unable to help the person saving him by even kicking his feet, still exhausted from not being able to breathe for so long. 

he hears himself sputter for air, but he also hears a distinctly male sound of spitting, and he realizes the man saving him has choked on some water as well and is trying to spit it back out while lugging them both back to land. zach wishes he had the strength to help, or at least to thank him. 

zach’s chest hits land first, the man pushing him up against the edge of the swamp so that his chest is tight against zach’s back. the man quickly hoists himself over so he can drag zach up by his armpits, making zach feel like a child. flat on his back, zach looks at the man for the first time, and feels an otherworldly sense of belonging. 

“are these your’s?” the man asks, with one arm still under zach, supporting his neck, and the other resting lightly on his chest, his hooded eyes gazing down at zach with concern. zach is thinking only of the man’s arms when he answers, _no, but i wish they were_ , in his head. “basketball shorts?” the man continues, “for an obstacle course? no wonder you lost them.” 

zach’s throat is still burning when he rasps, “ _what_?” 

the man drags something up from the mud beneath them. red basketball shorts. zach is too horrified to look down at his own legs. he feels like every cliche nightmare he’s ever had about being in public with no pants on has finally come true at the most inopportune time possible. here he is, in the arms of someone gorgeous, with a ghostly white sheen to his own face, pruney fingers, and only in his underwear and drenched tank top. 

“it’s okay,” the man continues casually, as if he saves pantsless boys all the time from drowning and, maybe he does, because zach finally notices that the man is wearing a sopping wet, yellow _staff_ tee shirt. “i’ll help you put them back on,” he says reassuringly, as if zach is infantile and incapable of dressing himself, instead of the flirtatious tone zach hopes the man maybe _meant_ to use.  

zach looks down to his own legs, his painfully wet underwear, and what looks to be dark, thick seaweed knotted around his ankle. he reaches down to pull it off, trying to ignore the feeling of being watched that he can only attribute to the man beside him, quickly throwing the seaweed back into the water with one pruney hand. 

the man stands finally, not quite decent enough to not glance at zach’s soaked-through white underwear hastily before he pulls a cell phone from the ground that he must have chucked there before diving in to save zach. “i’ve got a camper here with a bloody nose i’m going to bring back to camp now. everyone else made it through fine.” 

zach winces at the man’s unintentional jab at zach's masculinity as he rings out his basketball shorts, thighs exposed and cold as he stands up clumsily on his not-so-sea legs, turned away from the man to conceal his crotch.

“how’d that happen to your nose?” the man asks zach, before a startled noise comes from deep within his throat. “oh, no, everything's fine,” he says, addressing the person on the phone, “i was just, um, looking at the blood.” 

zach furrows his eyebrows in confusion before realizing that both sides of his underwear are probably entirely transparent by now. he tries to yank his shorts back on so he’s not showing a complete stranger his ass anymore. “someone kicked me when they were swimming.”

“someone kicked him when they were swimming,” the man repeats almost robotically, before hanging up the phone. 

“how deep is the water?” zach asks to fill up the uncomfortable silence.

the man shrugs. “maybe seven or so feet deep.” 

zach feels humiliated. he grew up in florida, swimming in the ocean, and yet he almost drowned swimming in a small patch of swamp that is shallower than an average pool. “so, there’s no alligators in there?”

the man smiles. “no, not this patch. the only animals that come this close to the outer ring of the swamp are some ducks, the raccoons, and maybe some foxes.”

zach nods, ducking his head in further embarrassment. “is everybody going to know that i couldn’t finish the course?” 

the man purses his lips to contain a laugh at zach’s expense and shakes his head affirmatively. “yeah, you’ll be involuntarily bed-bound in the nurse’s cabin for the rest of the night. standard precaution.” 

zach groans. he should have gone to basketball camp.

* * *

zach blinks repeatedly, wondering why it feels like something warm is resting just beside his right hip. when he realizes it’s someone’s thigh, he momentarily wonders if it’s the guy who had saved him earlier, but it’s only cody, sitting on zach’s bed. 

cody shrugs. “her family are big donors, paul says.” 

“yeah, well, paul also says he got approached to pose for a calvin klein ad this summer, but he turned it down to come here instead,” hayden says, “so his credibility is shit.” cody glares. 

“so, she didn’t even have to do the course at all?” nicole whines, taking off her dirt-caked glasses and wiping the lenses with the hem of her tee shirt. “that’s so not _fair_.” 

“i didn’t see her. did you?” cody asks nobody in particular. 

“are you kidding me, calzone?” hayden snorts, “all i could see from start to finish was the fuckin’ mud in my eyelashes.” 

“don’t fuckin’ call me calzone, dude.” cody glares again. “you’re not my bro.” 

“i’m not your dude, bro,” hayden adds venomously. 

“i’m not your bro, dude.” 

nicole puts her glasses back on and squints at them, sighing heavily. “cody, if i don’t want to go fishing tomorrow, can paul get me out of that too?” 

“yo, paul’s not in charge of scheduling, okay?” 

hayden quirks an eyebrow. “i thought paul said he controls everything here, man. activity scheduling, bunking arrangements, the fabric of space and time….” 

cody ignores him and turns to nicole. “if you have a problem with victoria, take it up with her. she’s probably sitting by the fuckin’ water right now, looking at her reflection in it and combing her hair with a fork.”

“you watch _the little mermaid_ a lot, huh?” hayden smirks. “that your favorite movie, bro?”

“yeah, right after _shark night_. it’s that one where all the guys who look like greasy surfers get their bodies mangled by sharks.”

a knock at the door breaks up the conversation. a girl with an impossibly shiny fishtail braid leans against the door frame, trying too hard to appear stern and assertive, while her braid is trying too hard to look artfully deconstructed, it’s small sections altogether too fussed over.

zach had no idea any of the kids he went to high school with would be here with him at camp, besides cody. apparently cody had neglected to tell him that half of their biology class back home was coming here to get extra credit by studying the tadpoles in the swamp, under adult supervision, of course.

“dinner is in five minutes,” victoria says from the door, obviously wanting to butt into the conversation, but still wanting to appear aloof.

“help us settle a bet,” hayden interrupts, “who’s cooler, me or cody’s older brother?” 

victoria shrugs, seemingly disinterested. “zachary, what do you think?” 

zach’s head snaps up. he’d been thinking about the guy who’d saved him again. “huh?” 

victoria looks at him with disapproval. “weren’t you listening?” 

zach hears cody snickering from his bedside, the vibrations slightly rocking zach’s bed. “not really.” 

“she asked you what your sign is, bro,” cody supplies.

zach makes eye contact with victoria. “beware of dog,” he replies flatly.

victoria glares and rises from the bed, leaving the other side of zach’s hip.“like i said, dinner is in five minutes.” 

zach waits for her to turn the corner out of the small room before he turns to look around the circle of people above him. “was that not what she asked?” 

cody’s cheek sticks out as his tongue pokes through it, not able to answer the question without laughing. “we better head to dinner.” 

as they file out of the room, someone walks in. zach blinks several times as if to be sure it’s really the man who saved him.

“lots of admirers, huh?” he stands in the doorway, mirroring victoria’s stance, hip cocked out, and his hair no longer appearing wet and tangled, as if he had blown it dry haphazardly before coming. his posture is authentically assertive, naturally confident, unlike victoria’s. 

zach snorts. “not really,” he says, “and none of them are my friends except cody.” 

the man presses his lips together in amusement as if he’s surprised zach wouldn’t have just lied to seem more beloved. “no? not the one with the eighties rock hair?” 

zach shakes his head. “hayden is a total loser.” 

the man grins. “what about the cute blonde girl with the glasses?” he presses.  

“nicole is a total nerd.” 

“how about the one with the glittery eye makeup?” 

zach makes a face. “victoria’s the _worst_.” 

the man snickers, stepping closer until he’s at the edge of zach’s bed. “mind if i sit?” 

zach’s eyebrows raise a little as he realizes both of the man’s arms have been behind his back from the moment he walked into the room. nothing about the man’s posture makes it seem like a shy gesture. so far zach doesn’t think the man is capable of _being_ shy. by process of elimination, zach almost thinks the man is holding something behind him. 

“yeah!” zach shouts quickly. “i mean, if you want to.” zach curses himself mentally. the man sits so his hip is pressed against zach’s thigh. zach becomes very keenly aware of the fact that only a thin blanket and his paper gown stand between zach having skin to skin contact with the man again.

“you look a lot less blue, which is a good sign. i’m not the nurse, but let me just-“ the man starts, bringing his pointer and middle finger to the side of zach’s neck. “pulse is stable,” he taunts. 

zach hears a small  squeaking sounds expel from his own mouth at the touch of frankie’scold fingertips. “so-“ zach begins hesitantly, “who are you?” 

“frankie grande,” he says slowly, “director of the arts during the camping season.” he eyes zach furtively. “part time lifeguard, apparently. while we’re on the subject, i thought i’d drop something off for you.” 

zach feels his insides bubbling with a strange sense of hesitant excitement. which is hampered down almost immediately. 

frankie pulls out two bright pink inflated items from behind his back. “flotation devices.”

“kids’ arm floaties,” zach says flatly, face aflame. with prickling shame, he looks down to his blankets. 

frankie rests one hand lightly onto zach’s knee from under the rumpled blanket, casually enough, and doesn’t seem to even notice his own actions. zach uses every muscle in his body to not let his knee twitch from beneath frankie’s hand. “arms out,” he instructs.

zach looks back up with a horrified expression clouding over his face. “ _what_?” he says as he pulls awkwardly at the thin blanket across his legs that has ridden down to expose his thighs in his even thinner paper gown. 

frankie sighs, picking up one of zach’s arms and beginning to slide one of the pink floaties up zach’s forearm. it gets stuck just below his elbow, as they’re too small. 

“one ticket to the gunshow?” zach asks sarcastically, flexing his arm to relieve some of the tension from the floatie being so tight. 

frankie snickers, his other hand remaining on zach’s bare knee, and he squeezes it lightly while laughing. zach hopes it’s not at his expense, but after this floatie torture he doesn’t have high hopes. frankie’s hand lingers on zach’s other arm after he slides the second pink floatie up zach’s arm. frankie has been leaning over him for enough time that zach half expects to be tucked in and read a bedtime story, not that he would mind exactly. if anyone asked. zach is simultaneously dismayed and delighted by this idea.

“why’d you bring pink ones made for a kid?” zach asks, miffed. 

“well, you had a pink tank top on before, so they would match. also, you look twelve. i thought they’d fit better than the adult ones.” 

zach is not pleased.

frankie smirks. “if you sleep-swim, you’ll be safe now. you know, just in case i don’t show up this time.”

* * *

“i heard the board put frankie in charge of filming the camp’s new introductory video to show allthe new kids, and he specifically asked for your help. wanna know the name of the project?” 

zach stares blankly ahead, waiting for the punchline, but refusing to give any acknowledgment besides a shrug. 

“ _one night in_ _okefenokee,_ ” hayden says, grinning and looking down from the bulletin board and his stack of pictures in his hand to the ground where his boxcutter, that somehow wasn't confiscated upon getting to camp, lies flat on the grass. 

zach glares. “oh, a porn joke. that’s so funny, i almost forgot to laugh.” 

“see,” hayden starts, turning away from the bulletin board finally to explain his joke, “you’re, like, paris hilton and frankie is, like, that creepy older guy who banged her for, like, two hours.” 

“dude, shut up!” zach yells. “frankie could literally be in there right now, listening!” zach jabs his thumb in the direction of the door to the admissions room. 

hayden nods. “he is, bro. he’s in there right now, pitching the porno to derrick.” 

“maybe derrick would like to know what _you’re_ doing right now,” zach says, folding his arms across his chest. 

hayden snorts, not looking at all intimidated. “here,” he says, handing the stack of papers to zach, “find me the one where paul has the thong on and pass me a thumb tack, would you?” 

“what if i don’t want to?” zach asks, wondering why he’s always the one being bossed around no matter who he’s with. 

hayden rolls his eyes. “what if frankie came over here right now and saw you holding a stack of pictures of paul’s half naked body? he might not flirt with you anymore, bro. you better hustle and help me get these pictures up.” 

zach, begrudgingly of course, complies. he finds that his dislike of hayden does not actually outweigh his dislike of the idea of frankie not paying attention to him anymore. unfortunately, hayden has presumably not accounted for paul’s daily morning jog.

the neon pink and green flyers to sign up for archery, badminton, and pottery on the bulletin board have been covered by dozens of different shots of a dark-haired man with airbrushed abs wearing only underwear, featuring none other than paul himself. 

the abandoned cardboard box and boxcutter lay flat beside hayden on the grass. zach sees paul, with startlingly fast reflexes, scoop the boxcutter up in one swift motion. his fist seems to shake, enclosed around the boxcutter, knuckles brushing up against both the old wooden walls of the office cabin and hayden’s hip. 

“take them down,” paul says, voice low and undetectable to anyone else in earshot, “ _now_.” 

hayden flinches. “i’ve got, like, eighty thumbtacks jabbing me in the back, dude. get off me.” 

paul’s fist does not loosen around the boxcutter as he turns to face zach. “this dickhead the kind of guy you’re buddies with now?”

zach shakes his head. “no, i was just heading up to the showers.” 

“you’ve never been a good liar, zach,” paul says, turning back to hayden. 

“no bigger lie than whatever they stuffed into your shorts to make your dick look bigger, bro,” hayden grins. 

paul throws the boxcutter to the side. hayden attempts to weasel away only to be pushed roughly back up against the bulletin board by paul. one particularly graphic photo of paul’s dewy-skinned ass in a men’s athletic thong that has been tacked up connects with paul’s fist, though paul may have been aiming for hayden’s head. 

hayden ducks, making it unclear as to whether paul actually meant to punch the photo or hayden himself. 

paul seems to finally realize what he’s doing, maybe because hayden’s eyes are wide with genuine fear and a few campers have stopped short to stare on their way to the showers, towels over their shoulders, flip flops on. after paul takes off just as quickly as he’d come, hayden bristles past zach, shoulders heaving. 

“fucking prick,” hayden announces loudly to the quiet giggle of a small hoard of girls standing beside the main office cabin. “i’m going in there-“ he points to the cabin door with one shaky hand, “and i’m going to report him.” 

zach grimaces. _“yes, mr. levasseur, it was_ after _i hung up the pictures of his naked body for all the minors attending camp to see that he became angry, sir…. no, sir, i see no correlation….”_

hayden glares. “fuck it, i’m still doing it. just try and stop me.” 

zach reluctantly follows him inside, if only out of morbid curiosity to see if he would really go through with it. when hayden approaches derrick’s private office room, labeled as such on the door, zach panics. “hey, don’t go in his office if he’s not in there,” he warns. 

hayden takes one look at the slightly ajar door and uses one still-shaky hand to gently push it further until he’s sure the room is empty. he beckons zach to follow him inside and zach carefully looks both ways inside derrick’s office before stepping inside after hayden. as hayden riffles through blank requests for rooming changes, stacked on an end table by the door, zach walks to derrick’s desk, which looks like it’s been blown through by a tornado, at least three times today.

“hang on,” zach says, glancing at a folder lying on derrick’s desk, “what’s this?” 

“zach, hurry the fuck up!” hayden prods him in the back, trying to shuffle him forwards. “help me find a blank sheet for filing a report against that fucker.” 

zach sees a small yellow post-it note reading ' _banned until further notice'_ , scribbled in sharpie on a plain, yet mysterious file. ' _grande',_ the last name of zach’s seemingly perfect knight in shining armor, has been typed on an index tab, reminding zach of his high school’s nursing records and filing system, the ones that showed how little he would grow each year, and he’s sure if he looked hard enough, he would find the nursing records in this very office building, if only he weren’t so preoccupied. “is this frankie’s file?” zach asks quietly. what did ' _banned until further notice'_ mean? 

hayden shrugs, his voice laced with mockery. “who cares? it’s not like his _ok cupid_ profile is going to be in there, dumbass. you can worry about what his favorite type of flowers are _later_.”

zach pushes the folder aside to see if maybe all of the other camp advisors also have files with menacing messages written on sticky notes on them, hoping that they indicate something positive. instead he sees stacks upon stacks of envelopes addressed to derrick. one envelope falls to the floor and, as zach picks it up, the papers inside fall out as if it had already been opened and discarded at the bottom of the stack. in ominous-looking lettering, one paper reads ' _final notice'_ in all capital letters. below, he sees a few words that stick out plainly - 'loan,' 'in danger,' and 'low funds' among them.

“hey, what is this about?” zach asks hayden quietly, turning to give hayden a view of the papers. 

“you do know it’s illegal to open other people’s mail?” hayden asks with a look of disbelief on his face. 

zach rolls his eyes. “it was already open!” 

hayden takes one quick glance at the papers, shrugging again. “maybe it's one of those scams - like when you get an email saying you're going to be arrested for some type of fraud you never did." a door swings open and bangs roughly against the wooden walls of the cabin from the inside and hayden gently hits zach's chest with the back of his hand to signal that it was time for them to leave. "now drop all that shit, the letters and grande's file too, so _we_ don't get arrested." 


	2. two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> he hates the feeling of abandonment that comes with frankie letting go of him, but doesn’t dare ask to be held onto for longer, stewing quietly and feeling resentment when not being paid attention to like a bitter old man, while feeling the newfound giddiness of a child when frankie remembers he exists.

“flotation devices?” cody asks, sounding baffled. “how’d he manage to bring you your mom’s boobs?" 

zach makes a face. “shut _up_ , calzone.” he pushes his plate of sandwiches away from himself in disgust and elbows cody.

“i’ve met him before, you know,” cody says, “he and paul sometimes go clubbing together back home.” he pauses dramatically, as if he’s a talk show host about to spill a piece of crucial gossip, “not that there’s probably much to pick from there for frankie, seeing as his type is soggy seventeen year olds.” 

hayden grins from across the table, looking at zach with mirth. “so, was it romantic after we left? did this frankie guy give you a sponge bath?”

zach privately thinks that if anyone in the nurse’s cabin is giving out free baths, then hayden and his flea motel hair could really stand to benefit from one, but instead of voicing this, his face colors, trying not to picture himself half naked again in front of the man who saved him, raising his voice a little in annoyance that will very likely be read as a temper tantrum. “i’m trying to eat here,” zach says. he knows guys rib each other with false accusations of being into other guys all the time, and normally zach would just brush it off, but seeing as he has lost his shit just from having frankie’s fingers touching his neck, the jokes are quickly becoming less funny. 

cody claps him on the back in apology and slides a stack of boiled hot dogs towards him. “here you go, bro, some big, meaty hot dog franks for you.” 

“oh, that’s _real_ fuckin’ funny,” zach says, voice raising again,“i should just go choke on frankie’s big, meaty hot dog, right?”

“no, man, i was just offering you some food,” cody says, looking mildly embarrassed at the graphic implication. “i swear i wasn’t-“ he suddenly cuts himself off, gaping at something behind zach. “oh, man.”

zach feels a hand clasp his shoulder, fingers playfully tugging the arm of his long-sleeved gators tee shirt. “it’s good to see you own clothes, not just wet underwear and nurse’s gowns,” frankie says quietly, ducking down so his body brushes against zach’s back, so close that his lips brush zach’s ear.

zach feels the blood rush to his face and he purses his lips together so he doesn’t accidentally bite them off in nervousness. zach turns around, but frankie is already heading in the opposite direction, going to sit with paul and some of his co-advisors at another table.

“why am i the only one here who hasn’t found someone?” cody bemoans himself, looking at hayden with contempt, probably because hayden has nicole and he’s jealous, “even _zach_ has.”

“i thought cody had a girl before we got here,” hayden asks zach, completely ignoring cody.

zach glares at cody for the implication that nobody has ever wanted to be with him before, true as it might be. “yeah, but it doesn’t count if she’ll need to be reinflated when we get back.”

hayden chuckles, running a french fry through a glob of ketchup. “well, what do you know? the kid has jokes.”

“I’m the same age as you,” zach says with a wrinkled nose, privately grateful that they both decided, wisely, not to ask what frankie had whispered to him.

hayden frowns, “no, that can’t be right. you’re, like, the baby of the group.” his eyes turn up to the ceiling like he’s trying to count the months in his head, which can’t be possible, because hayden doesn’t even know his birthday.

cody elbows zach and looks at him in bewilderment. “he’s not wrong, you know. are you sure you never skipped a grade in middle school, or something?”

zach groans. he wishes he had just gone to basketball camp. 

* * *

frankie’s thumb and forefinger catch the edge of zach’s tank top as zach turns to leave, pulling him back in. “hey, i get it, okay? paul is a big, scary monster. you want s’mores?”

zach huffs. “he practically knocked hayden out.”

“thought you hated hayden,” frankie grins, hand still possessively keeping zach nearby by the hem of his shirt.

zach nods. “i hate everyone,” he laments.

“you hate everyone, you hate everything,” frankie mimics haughtily, “c’mere.” his hand slips up from the hem of zach’s tank top to hold him by his bare hip. “do you hate this?”

zach squeaks, unable to quell the rising terror of this, of getting what he wants, though it frightens him to death.

“thought so,” frankie declares, “you little liar.” his hand falls from zach’s hip, but he gently rubs at zach’s lower back for a minute before he completely edges off, making zach want to propel himself into frankie’s chest so that he might have his entire back rubbed.

zach’s head feels heavy and his thoughts come in slow waves, the only thing registering for him being confusion - confusion from being touched in ways nobody has ever touched him before, but not knowing what the purpose is, where the catch might be, and when it might present itself, and spin zach into a downward spiral of shame for believing someone might actually _want_ to touch him like that. he hates the feeling of abandonment that comes with frankie letting go of him, but doesn’t dare ask to be held onto for longer, stewing quietly and feeling resentment when not being paid attention to like a bitter old man, while feeling the newfound giddiness of a child when frankie remembers he exists.

“s’mores later?” frankie asks again. “curfew is nine tonight, since tomorrow morning is the early fishing trip.”

“who made up _that_ fucking stupid rule?” zach whines.

“don’t swear,” frankie says, giving him an exasperated look, like a babysitter who’s just discovered the child they’re looking after has had sugar after midnight, “and _don’t_ whine.”

zach wrinkles his nose unhappily. that means he will only have an hour of time with frankie left once he gets back from teaching pottery classes. “i don’t _whine_ ,” he lies.

“you’re whining right now,” frankie concludes, smug. “you’ll whine more later if you get a sunburn, though.” he pushes his aviators down to the tip of his nose so he can look out from the tops of them at zach with raised eyebrows. “you _did_ pack sunblock with you, right?”

zach throws his beach towel out beneath him, rolling his eyes. “what do i need sunblock for? i’m already tan.” as soon as zach lowers himself enough to flop backwards, frankie seems to follow suit, and zach tries to tamper down on the expectations that quickly arise from frankie staying with him longer than zach had thought he would - expectations that frankie might ditch his own class for zach - extremely unlikely at best and embarrassingly delusional at worst.

“not all of you,” frankie corrects, his hand slipping treacherously back up zach’s pink tank top. although his palm barely brushes zach’s stomach, and although zach is sure frankie is only lifting his shirt to make a point, zach’s stomach flips and he tries to think about anything other than the fact that frankie may have noticed that an involuntary shudder wriggled through his body, so at least he won’t be red-faced on top of all of that.

zach is becoming more increasingly sure as the week goes on that frankie is merely trying to hedge him past the point of no return for solely his own amusement. the more of a physical reaction frankie can illicit out of him, the more smugness frankie seems to exude. zach has never really found smugness attractive in anyone else before, although that’s saying very little, as he’s never ever felt so turned inside out by another person at all, when they’re doing so very little to ensure he feels that way.

frankie flips open the cap to a bottle of sunblock with one hand, the other resting palm-down on zach’s stomach at last, making zach swallow thickly. when frankie pushes his tank top further up, he skims over zach’s nipples, and zach’s whole body tenses up. 

“the tanline you have is ridiculous,” frankie snorts, motioning towards the place on zach’s lower stomach that goes stark white, a sharp contrast from his mostly tanned chest. frankie brings his other hand to that spot, gently rubbing sunblock across his lower stomach. zach hears a small, pitiful whine escape his throat, and he brings his hand to cover frankie’s, because there’s no way he can let that continue while still salvaging some small semblance of pride. he removes his hand only to poke zach’s hip. “is that a cell phone in your pocket or are you-“

“-that’s not funny,” zach interrupts, shoving his sunglasses onto his face roughly, hoping frankie can’t actually tell he’s hard.

frankie claps zach’s knee to help himself get up off the ground, eyeing zach’s crotch with mirth. “now i know where the expression _happy_ camper comes from,” he snickers.

“are you done yet?” zach asks flatly, folding his arms over his lap as he sits up finally. he watches frankie brush grass off his knees and then walk off to his pottery class, while zach decides to sit alone for a few minutes to compose himself.

* * *

 “ _frankie_ ,” zach says, “frankie, hey.”

frankie reluctantly turns away from chatting with paul to face zach again. “what did you do now? burn yourself?”

zach frowns. he might resort to pathetic tactics to get frankie’s attention, but burning himself definitely isn’t one of them. “no, my marshmallow fell off my skewer. it’s too dark to see where it went.”

“one more,” frankie says with frustration, leaning in close enough so that his forehead is resting against zach’s, “but that’s the last s’more i’m making for you.”

zach breaks out into a huge smile, though he knows paul is sending them some confused glances in between admiring his own marshmallow toasting abilities. it would be pitch black without the camp fire, so paul is probably seeing more of their shadows than their faces. the tall cypress trees overhead extend their shadows to the log zach chose to share with frankie and paul, which feels very private despite the fact that there are at least fifty people between the camp fire and grill. frankie’s forehead is still rested against his like he’s waiting for zach to thank him, but zach feels the type of happiness bubbling up that usually results in a squeaky giggle, so he doesn’t want to speak. he likes being this close to frankie, so close their noses are brushing, and can feel sticky marshmallow on frankie’s nose, but zach can’t kiss him. he noses closer to frankie, pleased when frankie doesn’t immediately pull away, and licks at the tip of his nose.

frankie laughs loudly and pulls back, swipes one hand over his wet nose, and zach wants to be sucked into the ground. “okay, fido. try not to pee on any trees while i’m getting the graham crackers.”

zach is still contemplating death by diving into the fire pit when victoria seats herself on the log beside him. “you’re so obtuse,” victoria snides, one hand dangling her flimsy skewer over the fire, her marshmallow somehow maintaining the perfect light brown glow of a seasoned marshmallow toaster, which can’t be possible, zach thinks, namely because victoria probably doesn’t have expertise is anything except maybe hair-braiding.

“what do you want?” zach gripes, cutting straight to the chase.

victoria pushes her lips out in an exaggerated pucker, batting her eyelashes, and twirling her fishtail braid. _“frankie, roast my marshmallows for me. frankie, let me try your s’mores. frankie, save me from drowning.”_

zach rolls his eyes, deciding to play dumb. “uh, _yeah_ , save me from drowning. what _else_ would you suggest me to do? die?”

“he’s not doing you any favors he hasn’t done for other guys before,” she says flatly, with a meaningfully lowered voice, as if to convey a top secret piece of information.

“are you accusing frankie of being a serial lifeguard impersonator?” zach asks, grinning. “should we call the national coast guard?”

victoria frowns. “i’m accusing him of sleeping with someone like _you_ every single summer.”

“that’s _his_ prerogative,” zach says, shrugging, trying to not look put-off by the idea of frankie hitting on other guys at camp before him - other _young_ guys - though it makes his stomach churn, and he has the odd impulse to pet down on it where frankie had rubbed sunblock onto it. “ _my_ only prerogative is to eat my marshmallows and try not to drown again.”

he knows he’s making it sound like he’s trying to avoid any potential future hookups frankie might try to incite, but truthfully, it feels almost the other way around. frankie only humors him, flirts with him so zach doesn’t feel like an idiot for giving frankie signals he’s not even aware he’s giving half the time. maybe he should be more self-aware of the way he stands, always facing frankie, painfully hoping and waiting for something - anything - a hug, an arm over his shoulders, or at least that type of long-winded eye contact that makes zach eager to incite and distressed to end, because it’s like breaking a spell.

victoria flips her braid over her shoulder, signifying the end of the conversation, her expression unreadable. “suit yourself.” she clearly isn’t buying what he’s selling and he isn’t that surprised. paul is right; he’s never been a very good liar.

* * *

nicole frowns. “you know, i wrote a paper last year in psychology about a study that was done on people who had been pressured into have sex too young.” she fiddles with a tangerine-shaded colored pencil, rolling it between her hands as she looks at _it_ instead of at him, like she’s afraid of his reaction, then she finally settles for sticking it into her messy bun. “pressure to have sex when you aren’t ready leads to migraines, abdominal cramping, and loss of appetite.”

zach has no wish to acknowledge that this piece of information could pertain to frankie trying to put the moves on him in the shed, which seems to be the hot gossip around camp. “not true,” zach argues, “i pressure girls into having sex with me all the time.”

she rolls her eyes and kicks him in the shin with her baby blue keds. zach is sure there’s as good of a chance she believes he’s pressured girls into having sex with him as there is of the loch ness monster living in the okefenokee swamp territory.

“the obstacle course was so hard,” she says, trying to segway back into a comfortable, easy topic, “and i don’t know why they had to make us swim, anyway. i probably swallowed a gallon of swamp water!” 

“yeah,” zach shrugs, “that was like nothing _i’d_ ever encountered.”

nicole smirks. “so, a girl?” she takes a cue from him and shrugs, with a twinkle in her eye, and zach is overwhelmed by the idea that nerdy nicole with her thick-rimmed black glasses and purposefully-distressed overalls has had sex before zach has. when all zach does is shoot her a dirty look, she continues, “you know he’s significantly older than you.” 

“ _nicole_ ,” he says with an exaggerated, petulant sneer, “do you think you're a nurse now? what are you going to tell me next? that being pressured into having sex causes disorientation… blood coagulation… sleep deprivation….”

“-change of sexual orientation?” she giggles. “haven’t you heard of him taking a straight boy every year to _thee_ shed?”

zach puts aside how his heart pangs roughly in his chest at hearing that, at hearing there’s a spot so completely devoted to all of frankie’s past camp hookups that it’s notoriously referred to as _thee_ shed, like it’s at the level of _thee_ white house or _thee_ chelsea hotel. he decides to focus instead on pretending he’s stroking an invisible mustache, like he’s deep in thought. “you know what? you’re right, i think i’m feeling the disorientation and dehydration from him pressuring me already.”

“i thought you said sleep deprivation?” she frowns in confusion.

“i’m gonna go find him right now,” zach says, standing at last, and ignoring her. taking pleasure in the fact that she had never specified a name, he pinches his nose so his voice will come out sounding as nasally as nicole's, “so tell me, where _is_ hayden?”

nicole doesn’t find it so funny.

* * *

“just trade spots with me,” zach hisses, pleading with cody for the tenth time since they rolled out of bed that day, the first being the second zach woke up and saw cody rolling out a set of paint brushes, gaping at him and looking insulted that cody had never told him he’d signed up for one of frankie’s classes before camp had even started.

cody looks at him like he’s lost his mind. “this isn’t _the parent trap,_ you idiot! i can’t just go to your stupid archery lesson and pretend i’m you!”

“but then you’d get to hang out with your brother all day!” zach exclaims.

cody gives his best facial equivalent to an unimpressed _duh_. “that’s _why_ i signed up for watercolor classes, dumbass. i don’t want to spend three hours watching paul upstage me in front of all those hot girls with bows and arrows!”

“nicole will be there,” zach says with a sniffle, his tone dripping with insincerity, “it’s sad, don’t you think? hayden totally abandoned her to go on that overnight fishing trip with derrick’s group. she’s not going to have _anyone_ to kiss for the next twenty-four hours, and i think that she gets her oxygen from the inside of hayden’s throat, so that could be dangerous." 

so, okay, it’s not _entirely_ the truth. nicole won’t be _at_ the archery lesson, she’s actually doing a guitar lesson, but she will be ‘there’, in spirit. you know, in cody’s heart, or something.

cody looks skeptical. “frankie’s not going to pay attention to you,” he says heartlessly, “he’s going to be too busy giving victoria the heimlich for swallowing shiny paint, thinking it’s lipgloss.”

* * *

unfortunately, cody isn’t exactly _wrong_. frankie mostly ignores him during their three hour lesson, too busy demonstrating the way to paint a sunset, the way to blur harsh lines with the paints, and the way to tell someone just where to stick it if they ever get made fun of for liking art.

frankie’s navy apron hangs off one shoulder, the cell phone in the front pocket weighing one side down so it reveals his bicep, which is covered in white paint from when he was enthusiastically mixing approximately thirty colors together. on anyone else, zach thinks a paint-stained apron, hanging on someone by only one strap, would look disheveled and dingy, but frankie pulls off the not-so-tortured-artist look well.

while zach is lost in thought, mindlessly dragging his brush over the same spot he has been for ten minutes, he feels someone’s hands at his lower back. “what are you doing after this?” frankie asks, re-tying zach’s apron tightly around his waist with agile fingers.

zach opens his mouth to answer with a pitiful, yet truly honest ‘ _nothing_ ’ when victoria pipes up, always eager to interrupt, “he’s going back to his cabin to play with cody’s bow and arrow,” she says, turning to zach, “isn’t that what you said?”

“is that what the kids are calling it these days?” frankie smirks, resting one hand lightly on zach’s shoulder. zach is supremely grateful that frankie can’t see the blotchy redness of his face at hearing that. “well, i was wondering if you’d be interested in helping me with a camp related project after class, but if you’d rather help cody, um-“ frankie pauses to snort, “get his bow to _shoot_ -“

zach snorts. “i’m sure cody’s practiced _that_ on his own enough to manage.”

“you don’t say?” frankie asks, grinning. “and what about you?”

“oh, i don’t really play archery.”

frankie squeezes his shoulder. “well, i don’t do ice skating competitions, but i’m still into exhibition.” zach coughs roughly, causing frankie to slap him on the back. “you okay, pipsqueak?”

it takes five minutes of zach promising he isn’t coming down with a cold, and five more minutes of frankie teasing him after that, before frankie finally retreats back to the front of the room. zach is left feeling woozy and almost drunk off of the attention, so completely unexposed to being flirted with that his head spins a bit with it. the idea that he was actually the center of frankie’s attention for ten minutes gives zach feelings of both relief and crushing disappointment, relief because maybe it's not all in his head, and feelings of crushing disappointment in knowing that frankie won’t always pay attention to him at all. he spends the last half hour or class swirling his dirty paint brush in his cup of water, watching the water fade to black, wondering if he should try and inconspicuously untie his apron, so if frankie notices it, he might tie it for zach again.

on the way up to the front of the room as everyone else is shuffling out, finished watercolor paintings in tow, zach rushes to pull the ties loose to his apron. when he stands, the apron falls, tangling at his feet, and he trips, falling to his knees with a graceless _thud_.

“nice triple salchow,” frankie grins, standing in front of him with his chisiled arms folded over his chest, “but you didn’t quite stick the landing.”

zach wilts.

* * *

the shed has cans of paint stacked up, leaning precariously on a windowsill that does not look anywhere near wide enough to hold them. zach wonders if the project frankie needs help with is going to involve the paint. maybe they’re going to repaint the shed? maybe they’re going to paint a mural on the wall of the admissions cabin? zach imagines getting to spend the rest of the day listening to frankie telling jokes and sharing a paint tray with him. he couldn’t wait to let cody know that he’d been wrong - frankie wasn’t going to completely ignore him all day.

“are we going to be painting?” zach asks while squinting and raising his hand to shield his eyes from the sun.

frankie grins toothily. “no, we’re going to be doing something a little dirtier than that.”

“we _are_?” zach says, biting his lip. “where?”

frankie jabs his thumb in the direction of the shed. “you won’t need to squint when you get inside, it’s pretty dark in there.”

zach follows frankie inside the shed, swallowing his nerves, and hoping the dirty thing frankie has planned for them has to do with digging up dirt and planting flowers, or something else less daunting than the idea of having sex in a splintery old shed, which zach has been thinking of a fucking lot lately, but only because everyone keeps telling him _not_ to. the floorboards creak under zach’s feet, and when the heavy wooden door swings shut behind them with a loud bang, zach jumps, and his hands smacks against the closed door by accident.

“keep your shorts on over there,” frankie says with amusement, voice sounding far off, “i know how you tend to lose them around me.”

zach blushes ferociously in the dark, having the odd impulse to hide from him, even though frankie would never know he’s blushing, maybe because being dragged up from the swamp half naked in front of frankie was one of the more embarrassing moments of his life. zach tries to take a few steps forward so he can find frankie, but his knee smacks into something solid and, as it throbs, zach groans in pain.

“well, that’s not usually the reaction i get in here,” frankie laughs, voice sounding suddenly much closer. zach abruptly feels himself being pushed backwards. his spine presses against something that feels icy cold even through his shirt, and fresh goosebumps spring up at the bare backs of his shoulders. frankie’s body presses firmly against his, though his arms stretch out past zach, like he’s reaching for something.

“what are you doing?” zach gasps, praying frankie hasn’t taken his many displays of childish affection as something closer to wanton lust. he wouldn’t know what to do with himself if frankie thought he was open for business. 

instead of answering, frankie snorts at him patronizingly.“why are you trying to block me?” he says, hands finally resting on zach’s hips.

zach feels his eyes tearing up, wondering what exactly would be worse, frankie having assumed zach would be an easy lay and trying to force himself on him, not caring at all for zach’s feelings, or his own inadequacy, the actual fact of the matter being that even if he _wasn’t_ so terrified at the idea of someone being interested in him, he still would have no idea how to act on it, but he knows he wouldn’t want it to happen in the place where frankie has his annual hookup.

“do you - have to?” zach asks with a sniffle, lifting his arm to rub his runny nose on the backside of his hand. frankie’s hands stay right where they are, lodged right on his hips, so he couldn’t move if he tried.

“i’ve wanted to for _weeks_ , zach,” frankie groans, “you’ve been a real distraction.”

zach’s body freezes, but he swallows the lump in his throat,trying to sound calm. “what do you mean?”

“even if you don’t want to, _we’re still going to_ , zach. we’re already _here_.”

part of zach wants to beg to be let out of the shed and part of zach wants to kick frankie in the balls and try to find the door in the dark to leave. most of him wants to burst into tears because all he wanted today was for frankie to look at him like he was an equal, regardless of the age difference present.

zach’s inability to showcase any confidence that isn’t fabricated makes him feel unworthy of frankie’s time, like frankie probably deserves better than him. it seems like a ridiculous notion that zach could actually have something real to offer frankie, despite his devotion, loyalty, and never-ending praise. the only _real_ thing zach has to offer is his body in all it’s glory - downy, baby critter-like hair waiting to be yanked and all the other untouched parts of him that he’s been saving for what seems now like for no particular reason at all, and maybe frankie sees him for what he is and it’s not his fault for assuming zach’s exterior _is_ all he is - a scared, attention-starved troublemaker. still, accepting that cody, nicole, and victoria were right about frankie’s intentions makes him feel queasy and faint.

frankie’s hands drop from zach’s hips, the air between them feeling unsettled. “are you…crying?” he asks in confusion. in one quick movement, a loud snapping sound cracks above zach’s head and, when yellow, foggy light filters through the dusty, old shed, frankie’s face is illuminated in front of him, looking concerned. his arm hangs above him, his hand still clenched around the long and thin piece of metal connected to the light above them.

“i should have listened to everyone else,” zach sniffles, trying to shove past frankie and make for the door.

frankie’s hand grips his wrist before zach can leave. “hang on,” he says angrily, “are you saying people _warned_ you about me?”

“so what if they did?” zach bites out. “you’re not exactly doing a very good job at proving them wrong!”

frankie looks down at the way his hand is tight around zach’s wrist, then back up to zach, registering the guarded expression zach knows he must have, wondering if frankie is going to let him go or not. instead, frankie shakes his head in disbelief, and does something very unexpected. he twines his fingers with zach’s. “trust me,” he says, voice finally evened out, “you’ll know when i’m trying.”

zach doesn’t know what to do with his hand, or where to put his eyes, for that matter. he settles for looking at the ground. “you said we were going to do something _dirty_ and then you _cornered_ me against-“

“-the lawnmower, i know.” zach looks at him in confusion, feeling an odd sense of discontent when frankie pulls his hand away from zach in order to gesture behind zach.

it was, in fact, a lawnmower that zach got pushed up against. it’s shiny and green with a leather seat and tires that look almost half the size of zach’s body. “so, why-“

“that’s what we’re doing, zach.” frankie gives him a reproachful expression that is obviously meant to make zach drop his head again in embarrassment for assuming frankie was trying to get into his pants. “i was supposed to mow the grounds weeks ago, but i was too busy making sure you weren’t going to drown again.”

zach frowns and tries, and most likely fails, to not look affronted. “i’m not going to drown during a watercolor lesson.”

“where there’s a will, there’s a way,” frankie assures him melodramatically. “now, we’re going to get a start on mowing while it's still warm out.” he drops one hand to the hem of zach’s favorite pink tank top and raises it up so it exposes zach’s stomach, lifting the hem all the way to zach’s eyes and wiping under them where his face is still wet. “you can hop up and sit behind me. that okay with you, booster seat?”

zach follows frankie outside and realizes why frankie had told him he would have to _hop_ up now - the tires really _are_ huge and zach really _is_ kind of short. the seat is clearly made for one person and zach has no idea how he’s going to fit between frankie and the raised back of the seat. he gets one foot on top of the running board meant to help him up, but that doesn’t solve the problem of squeezing behind frankie.

frankie sees zach stalling and laughs at his expense, finally standing up to give zach the space to sit. once they’re both on the seat, zach realizes this was a very bad idea.

“never tried to fit another person on here before and now i know why,” frankie says, inching closer to the wheel in an effort to put some space between them.

zach winces. “sorry, my butt is kinda big.”

frankie snorts. “i’m aware.”

the idea, though admittedly already seeming like a bad one from the moment they both tried to cram themselves onto one seat, now seems like an even worse one, what with frankie telling zach he’d never let anybody else on the lawnmower before, and giving zach a convenient case of amnesia. he could no longer remember why he had even been crying. frankie had gone out of his way to spend more time with him when he could have just ignored him after his class, and now he was letting zach latch onto him on the back of his lawnmower like it’d been his plan all along.

they roll over the small hills easily and without fuss, but when the wheels start hitting rocks in the grass, zach can feel himself bouncing, and has to fist the back of frankie’s shirt so he doesn’t face-plant onto the ground. the air is starting to cool down, which zach is extremely grateful for, having peace of mind that he at least won’t stink like sweat and scare frankie off. frankie takes one hand off the wheel for just long enough to reach behind himself and get one of zach’s arms around his chest. zach carefully clapses his hands together at frankie’s chest and leans into him until his chin is resting on frankie’s shoulder. he’s never been in such close contact with someone he’s had real feelings for before and it’s causing his heart to pound. frankie feels very sturdy and strong for someone so thin and zach wonders if he works out a lot to get his arms as toned as they are. he realizes he’s staring and that he doesn’t have to look away, because there’s nobody outside to see him doing it. it’s strangely relieving. he had no idea he had been so stressed out by the idea of people picking up on how zach felt about frankie until they got to finally be alone.

“it’s starting to get dark out,” zach says as the lawnmower finally comes to a halt beside an overgrown shrub back near the shed. “i’ll need to get back to my cabin soon for curfew.”

“looks like you’ve got a problem there, pre-school.”

zach glares at the back of frankie’s perfect head. “you could give me a ride.”

frankie chuckles. “careful, abstinence. i thought you didn’t want to talk about anything dirty.”

“i’m not _abstinent_ ,” zach says, making a noise of indignation, just as frankie revs the motor and puts the lawnmower in reverse, causing frankie to slide backwards and into the space between zach’s thighs. zach freezes, knowing that all the bouncing up and down in his seat and the faint vibrations coming from the hum of the motor had done nothing to settle himself, not to mention all the close contact with frankie’s body.

frankie shuts the motor back off, laughing hysterically. “if that’s what _abstinence_ feels like, maybe i should join a nunnery." 

“shut _up_ , frankie,” zach groans, trying futilely to scoot backwards.

frankie climbs gracefully out of the lawnmower and is dusting the grass off his legs when zach’s foot slips off the running board and he falls backwards off the lawnmower and onto his ass on the dirt below. “it’s okay,” zach says, meeting frankie’s eyes, “it doesn’t hurt, or anything.”

frankie stares. “if car companies modeled their airbags after your ass, nobody would ever die in a car accident.”

zach rolls his eyes and stands back up, realizing with horror that even in the beginnings of a sunset, there is still enough light left to see what had made frankie laugh at his expense. zach knew he hadn’t been completely soft when his lap had been so rudely violated, but he might have been underestimating his level of enthusiasm if the tent in his shorts has anything to say about it.

frankie rakes his eyes down zach’s body and heaves a sigh of resignation, while making eye contact more so with zach’s dick than with him. zach is dismayed when he understands why frankie is not teasing him about this - because it’s already happened before and now frankie just feels _bad_ for him. zach gets a free pity pass this time. he wonders why the earth never seems to split open and devour him when he wants it to.

“i think i’m sunburnt,” zach grumbles unhappily. apparently unfortunate events come in droves.

frankie presses his lips shut tightly, suppressing the urge to laugh. “of course you are,” he nods, “you _would_ wait until the nurse’s cabin has been closed for an hour to tell me that. i’m going to go out on a limb and guess that there’s no aloe in your cabin either.”

“it’s my shoulders,” zach whines, “they really hurt.”

frankie rolls his eyes. “well, there should be some aloe in my cabin still if you-“

“i don’t think that will be necessary, frank,” someone says from behind them, “zach can pick some aloe up bright and early tomorrow morning at the nurse’s cabin. curfew is in half an hour. besides, you know as well as i do that he’s not allowed inside your cabin.”

“derrick,” frankie says, forcing a smile onto his face, “i wasn’t inviting him inside, i was just letting him know he could borrow it. besides, you know as well as _i_ do that i don’t invite campers back to my cabin.”

zach watches with rapt attention, looking back and forth between the two, half expecting each to materialize cowboy hats on their heads to tip at one another, along with materialized guns, all in agreement of an impending western-style standoff. derrick shoots frankie a look that reads like something between stunned disbelief and amusement, like he doesn’t believe a word frankie is saying, and zach wants so badly to believe that frankie really _hasn’t_ ever brought anyone back to his cabin in _that_ way before that he knows it might make him a hapless idiot.

“zach,” derrick says, finally turning and addressing him, “i can escort you back to your cabin. i’m sure frankie can manage to lock up the shed and finish doing his job without any _more_ help from his students.”

zach can almost feel the anger radiating off of frankie from beside him, at the accusation thrown his way, and when zach looks back to him, frankie only elbows him lightly. “i’ll release you from your forced slave labor today, zach. you worked so hard sitting on the lawnmower, you almost make _derrick_ look lazy.”

“watch it, grande.” derrick’s pointed look confirms, much to zach’s immense discomfort, that derrick is not kidding. instead of having to make the decision of who to reply to first, zach opts out, and says nothing at all. “curfew is in half an hour,” derrick repeats, giving them both a final knowing look before walking off.

“well, did you want to go grab that aloe?” frankie grins over at zach. “we have plenty of time.”

* * *

zach shifts from one foot to another, waiting for frankie to come back outside with the aloe, and trying not to think about how the material of his shirt is starting to irritate his shoulders and back. frankie reappears in the doorway, with his shoes already having been kicked off, and looks at zach expectantly. “are you waiting for derrick to come over here to check up on me and see if my brothel is back in business?”

zach giggles. “no, but - didn’t you say you don’t invite-“

“just you, munchkin,” frankie says as he pulls the door wide open and gestures inside, “some rules are meant to be broken.”

zach tries to tamper down the smug feeling at his core so he doesn’t let his brain get carried away with itself. he can’t say he hates knowing that he’s the only guy to ever be in frankie’s personal space, the same place where he sleeps, free from bunk mates who meddle into his business. although, zach knows he will be bragging about this to cody the second he’s back in his own cabin, so he shouldn’t complain.

frankie rummages through a set of drawers that look altogether too expensive and modern to be sitting on top of chipped and creaky wooden floors, with drafty, old windows on either side of the one room cabin. after he hands zach the aloe, he sits on the bed pushed against the wall, his blue athletic socks matching the blue of frankie’s set of sheets and pillowcases. zach finds himself wondering if the pillows smell at all like his hairspray. zach is getting the aloe all over the back of his tank top, trying and failing to apply it evenly to his shoulders.

“come here,” frankie beckons, patting the bed, “you’re helpless.”

zach sits beside him, grinning. “it’s cold!” he shouts after frankie pulls zach's tank top over his head and starts trying to rub it into his back, frankie’s hand lodged up the back of zach’s shirt.

frankie grabs him suddenly, pinning him to the bed. “stop whining!” he pokes zach repeatedly in the stomach until zach rolls over onto it in order to protect it, laughing so loudly he really hopes none of the other single cabins nearby are derrick’s.

then, frankie is spooning him, holding zach’s forearms to keep him from squirming too much. zach happily backs up as far as he can, wanting to erase the chill he feels from the aloe. when he can’t back up any more, he wiggles slightly, almost involuntarily, like his body thinks it might be possible to get closer. frankie suppresses a groan, one of his stripped knee-sock covered feet rubbing up against zach’s calves. zach can hear frankie trying to hold a conversation with him, but the words sound too far away to follow, though frankie’s mouth is right behind his ear. all zach can seem to hear is the air whipping around just outside the door of frankie’s cabin and the leaves scattering with the gust.

“are you paying attention to anything i’m saying?” frankie asks, sounding amused. with his neck bared trustingly, zach hums in confirmation under his breath. “oh, really? what did i say?”

“ _sounds like it’s going to rain,_ ” zach says with drooping eyes, “ _better stay here for the night_.”

frankie laughs, blowing enough hot air into zach’s ear that he shudders involuntarily and tries to raise the blanket over his ear, as if to shield it. “good boy,” frankie says, dipping his face beneath the covers to press his mouth gently to zach’s neck. zach shifts again, presenting his neck to frankie, while comically looking dead asleep. “are you going to fall asleep?”

“not if you keep me awake,” zach murmurs, managing to sound, even to his own ears, about as exciting and alluring as a stray tumbleweed blowing through the desert.

frankie winds one arm around zach’s hip, seemingly physically affected regardless of zach’s inexperience with flirtation. he noses the back of zach’s neck and inhales deeply. zach feels warm and content in frankie’s arms. he's glad he doesn't have to wonder if frankie has ever taken another guy back to his cabin a previous summer and held them like this.

“you can sleep,” frankie offers, scratching his stubbly jaw against zach’s cheek.

zach huffs with quiet disagreement. he’s afraid that going to sleep will mean he won’t get to catalogue how tightly he’s being held so he can remember it the next night when he’s alone back in his own cabin. he wants to compliment the way frankie’s solid, subtly muscled arms feel around him, but he doesn’t think that would make him sound any less inexperienced or any more desirable.

“zach?” frankie says, chuckling, “did you hear me?”

“hmm?” zach murmurs, face turned into the pillow and already half asleep.

frankie lifts his hand from where it had been on zach’s chest and uses it to tip zach’s chin back up so his voice doesn’t get muffled by the pillow. “i _said_ ,” frankie says with faux impatience, pressing a short, loud kiss just outside the corner of his mouth, “you could at _least_ give me a goodnight kiss.”

zach scrunches his whole face up and laughs loudly at the melodramatic sound of frankie’s lips on his face. “ _frankie_!”

“haven’t you been waiting?” frankie asks, pressing a longer, less laughable kiss at the corner of his mouth again.

it makes the breath catch in zach’s throat and he wonders how frankie can hold a conversation while being so close to someone that they’re sharing air and not sound nervous. though he’s confused about the very sudden change in frankie’s temperament towards him, going from being steadfast in treating zach like an annoying child that needs constant supervision to now acting like zach is all he thinks about and all he wants. it’s dizzying, but zach _has_ been waiting, and he tries not to feel like a pushover when he rolls onto his back and lets his eyes flutter shut at the feeling of frankie moving to hover over him.

he feels boneless and pliant, body nestled snugly beside frankie’s as frankie leans over him. zach waits patiently, feeling slightly dazed, almost like a cartoon character that’s been hit over the head, birds emerging and chirping above him in a halo, for frankie to stop pressing kisses to his face.

as frankie’s mouth finally nears his own, the phone rings. zach opens his eyes, his head still feeling foggy, to see frankie getting off the bed with his cell phone pressed between his shoulder and his ear.

“-some kind of sick joke?” frankie asks in disbelief.

as the wind whips around outside, slightly rattling the door, zach’s mind goes to places that scare him. he wonders if there’s going to be some kind of tropical storm or natural disaster, judging by the sounds outside and by the tone of frankie’s voice.

frankie paces from one side of his cabin to the other, stopping just short of the bed frame, his knees at zach’s eye level. his voice dips into something resembling resignation, which somehow terrifies zach more than frankie’s anger had.

there’s silence on both ends of the phone call, zach can tell, because paul’s voice had wavered and then dropped off completely, so the first crack of lightning and the first booming of the thunder seems dangerous, like a warning for what was to come.

“collect them?” frankie asks with dread, “there hasn’t been a head count?” frankie scrubs his face with one hand, eyes lowered in the closest thing to _shame_ zach has ever seen frankie emanate. he puts the phone on the mattress and looks to zach with a defeated-looking expression that lets zach immediately recognize that this is the end of an affair that never was. “you shouldn’t be here,” he says slowly, and zach’s heart pangs. never mind the fact that it was frankie who asked _him_ back to his cabin, never mind that it was _frankie_ who was going to kiss him. “you need to leave.”

zach hears paul still talking on the other line, phone resting beside zach’s shoulder on frankie's bed. “frankie? _frankie_? we have to go to every cabin and send them all home.”

“what happened?” zach asks with dread. “is there going to be a hurricane?”

frankie looks at him with confusion. “no - there’s no hurricane. paul found - paul found a _body_.” frankie reaches down to zach and yanks at him by his bare, sunburnt shoulders, hauling him upright. he paces back towards the door and finds zach’s tank top that he’d hurled onto the floor earlier, refusing to meet zach’s eyes.

zach stares. his shoulders are stinging from the handprints frankie just left on his already red skin, but he still walks to where frankie’s back is turned on him, tries to rub at frankie's back so he’ll stop shaking.

“ _here_ ,” frankie snaps, balling up the pink tank top and shoving it roughly at zach’s chest. “get dressed.”

when zach doesn’t move, too confused and upset to process anything, frankie’s face turns into a snarl. he whips the tank top out so it makes a snapping noise as it connects with frankie’s own leg, though zach can barely hear it when it has to compete with the thunder outside.

zach feels his arms being forced upwards and feels frankie’s rough hands pulling the neckline of the tank top over his head and zach hisses in pain. “ _fuck_.”

“go back to your cabin,” frankie insists, still not making eye contact with him, “grab whatever you can and go find a group of people and stick to them.”

“no,” zach says resolutely, “why can’t i go with you?”

“ _zach_ ,” frankie spits, “this isn’t about your feelings. we’re not safe here anymore.”

zach balks. “ _my_ feelings?”

“yes, _your_ feelings,” frankie says, making it abundantly clear that he does not, in fact, reciprocate, even though he was apparently bored enough to coax him back to his cabin and try to kiss him. 

zach swallows the lump in his throat, ignoring that as well as the way his tank top burns his skin as it brushes up against his red chest. “you want me to go outside without you when it’s not safe to _be_ outside?” zach asks brokenly. 

“you’ll be safe as soon as the buses get here,” frankie answers, seeming already detached from the conversation. “you’ll be home tonight.” he turns around again, body still shaking slightly.

zach wonders how it is that frankie can manage to sound so disinterested and unaffected by his conversation with zach, but still be shaking so hard. “why are you shaking?” he asks.

“because you’re still here!” frankie snarls. “get _out_ of here, zach!” despite the previously monotone way he had addressed zach’s lack of safety, he now seems to have snapped again, bouncing back and forth between the detached acceptance of the situation and to rage again when zach dares to question whether he’s okay or not.

frankie steps closer, fist bunching and closing tightly around the material of zach’s shirt, his breath hot at zach’s face. “what are you waiting for?” he asks, though he’s blocking the door zach would need to use to leave. there’s a moment where the air hangs suspended and heavy, as if it suspects, like zach does, that frankie is about to haul him in for a real kiss. frankie’s eyes lower on zach’s pulse point and he inhales roughly like he smells something sour. he lets go of zach’s shirt and steps aside.

zach leaves.

* * *

zach boards the second bus out of camp at the last possible second. the entire aisle of the bus is slippery, it’s wet floor making zach’s feet slide out from underneath him. a hand shoots out to grab his arm to keep him upright, which zach is much appreciative of.

“sit down,” cody says, his hand gripping zach’s arm tightly, knuckles stark white, “so we can get the hell out of here, man.”

zach turns to look back to the bus driver, who is eyeing him from the rearview mirror, clearly waiting for him to take a seat. when zach looks back to cody, expecting him to slide over and make room, he sees that cody’s face is ghostly white, just as his knuckles had been, and his mouth is set in a firm line. beside him sits hayden, who is hanging his head low, his tangled, dripping blonde hair hiding his face, looking almost like a halloween mask hangs from hayden’s body. for all the time hayden and cody have spent practically at each other’s throats during the past two weeks or so, neither seem bothered to be sitting shoulder to shoulder on a cramped school bus seat now. in fact, zach could swear cody has shifted closer to hayden just then, as if whatever dangerous thing that had hurt someone could board the bus next, and hayden would be his protecter.

zach quickly scans every other seat and realizes the only unoccupied spot seems to be directly across from the two of them, beside victoria. her expression seems vacant and, though she looks right at zach when he sits down next to her, her attention is quickly placed back on wringing her dark, sopping wet hair out with two small, manicured hands. as the bus finally begins to roll out of camp, victoria’s knees, which are bare and tiny in a white skirt, clap together whenever the thunder strikes, as if unconsciously.

out of habit, zach cranes his neck to check the bus for other familiar faces. “where’s nicole?” zach mutters, almost to himself, “did she get onto the first bus?”

hayden jerks at the sound of her name, head snapping up and eyes finally meeting zach’s. he looks bleak, all the color draining from his face to leave him looking almost sickly-green. the movement had been so fast, cody had jumped when it’d happened. looking at cody’s momentarily terrified face, zach wonders if cody thought hayden was about to hit him.

zach turns back to victoria, feeling like a brick has fallen into the pit of his stomach. she shakes her head _no_ once, then looks out the window at the rain drops panging heavily onto it, and zach thinks about what frankie had said to him when he’d asked what had happened. _“paul found a body.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for being patient! let me know if you liked it :)

**Author's Note:**

> virgotrixie.tumblr.com


End file.
